


Temperance

by stephtron312



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-17 06:50:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4656816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephtron312/pseuds/stephtron312
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I can't do this," she swallowed. "Not to you."</p><p>Daryl wants to try but Carol can't let herself. So where does that leave them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Penance

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1.

It didn’t smell like a church. None of that smoky incense from the Saint candles or the pulpit to tingle at her nose. The staleness of the Holy Water basin, or the slickness of marbled floors. It was certainly absent of the overpowering scent from all the neighborhood ladies’ overused perfume bottles, as if smelling like gardenias was a ticket to Heaven.

But for all intents and purposes, this shed-like expanse was the cathedral Deanna had given to Father Gabriel, and he worked in it well enough.

“Surprised to see you here,” the priest said from behind the wooden podium that he stationed himself at. His voice was always like a whisper, and she wondered if God had to strain to hear him as much as she did.

“Abe kept talking about the new benches they made for you. Figured it was about time I actually came to see them,” she said, running her hand along the back of the rough cedar wood. She’d find a splinter if she wasn’t careful.

“Is that all you came for, Carol? To look at some benches?” Father Gabriel kept his eyes still on the Bible in front of him, the loose pages that he had ripped out shoved inside of it carelessly.

She took in a deep breath, her eyes shutting for half a second as she identified the new smells. Sawdust. Strawberries. Paper. Nothing close to God as she ever knew it before. Opening her eyes she brought herself to stand behind the first bench. There were only three, one in the very front and two angled off behind it, but Abe had promised the construction crew would be making more. Leaning against it, she clutched the back of prickly wood and brought her eyes up to meet the small metal crucifix that hung in the center of the wall.

“Do you believe in confession, Father?”

He looked towards her, the way she studied the silver cross in that same calculated way that she studied everything. If there was one thing he knew about this woman, it was that she never did anything by accident. She shifted numerous times since they met but the changes were always run through an algorithm until she knew it would produce the outcome she needed. Every question was a trick, but her games were never without reason.

She didn’t strike out in fear, like he did. His moves were always messed in cowardice but Carol possessed that kind of bated restraint that could allow her to conquer this world instead of merely making it through alive.

“Everyone has something hidden inside that must rectify itself one way or another. Confession can do that,” he moved around the podium, coming to stand beside the table haphazardly covered in cloth where the small bowl of Holy Water would rest. It was empty. Beside it were the strawberries one of the women brought to him days ago, a small amount of white fuzz growing between the fruit. He didn’t care to remember her name, not wanting to know the intimates of a new flock when the names of his past gathering rang through him in a continuous scream of suffering.

“But do you believe that by simply speaking out our sins, that they’re really erased? That they stop stewing where they’ve settled deep within ourselves?”

She said it like a challenge, but her expression spoke otherwise. Lulled but eager, like maybe she actually wanted an honest answer.

He flickered towards the crucifix, his arms folded across his chest as he contemplated the metallic figure of the man he had failed so often. When he locked the church doors, he sacrificed the parts of him that were Godly, the parts that were easiest to get rid of. It left him with an ugliness, ruptured and crumbling.

How many times had he confessed? Knelt in his church, dark and alone with the drooling, dripping growls that scratched at the walls, his hands clasped tight and his lips whispering in a hellish fury. Nights filled with a wailing penitence, but never an ounce of forgiveness.

“No,” he said, resolute as he tore his eyes from the crucifix. “This world is only filled with punishment.”

“Yeah it is. Out there,” she threw a casual glance out the window towards the high, steel packed walls they lived behind. “But in here it’s tuna casseroles and neighborly smiles. Or have we just transcended to a different kind of retribution, to live in a world we’ve left behind in daydreams and know we can’t really be a part of it.”

He knew she was talking about themselves specifically. They couldn’t carve themselves out of these cherry-picked mini mansions and manicured lawns, the fallen priest and a mercenary hiding beneath paper versions of who they used to be. They weren’t like the others, filled with disquiet and fear. Something else lurked within them.

It reflected back to him from the cool of her eyes, the same darkness that clawed from within even his smallest cracks to devour him. He wondered what she did to deserve that kind of agony, but he didn’t have room beside his own sins for anyone else’s.

“Demons have no obstacle which they cannot penetrate. Those walls can’t hide us.”

“Then how do we live with…how do we live _here_? How do we deserve this?” she asked with the same quiet defiance that ran beneath all her words.

“But if the wicked do penance for all his sins which he hath committed, and keep all my commandments, and do judgment, and justice, living he shall live, and shall not die, Ezekiel 18:21.” His body ached with each syllable, the word of God weighing heavy on his tongue, tainted with bitterness. “We keep our penance, we resist and hold our temperance against temptation. Against our happiness and our comfort and our ease. That’s how we deserve this, how we live through the fog of our ghosts.”

She swallowed, the muscles of her neck tensing and cast her eyes down towards the bench she still held onto. “They’re nice. The benches.”

“I hope they were worth the visit,” he offered her, holding her unspoken confession between them.

“Me too,” she nodded to him, her pupils refocusing as if she had lost sight of where she was. With one last sweep of her finger against the back of the coarse wood, she patted it strangely and turned, the heels of her loafers hardly sounding as she hastened out the door.

+*

She had been expecting the house to be empty by time she made it back to their little corner of Alexandria, but there was no mistaking the muddy prints that led up to the once shiny front door. Without having to open the door she knew what would be waiting for her inside, the way his sweat-filled hair would be wrapped around his face, dirt clinging to his skin and eyes that wouldn’t let go once they found her.

He had been extra careful with her the past few days, worldlessly helping her with cleaning the dishes or putting away plates. He helped her pack up tuna casseroles that she had to deliver, something he would have scoffed at a week ago.

_You look ridiculous._

She gave Aaron most of the credit for settling him; bringing back the hint of ease he had at the prison, the one that meant he felt comfortable and even happy. He went so far as getting two new pairs of pants and a new pair of boots that weren’t ripping and falling apart—something to match who he was now. There was something new to his eyes, though, a soft gaze that lingered with her even after she curled up into her bed, wishing she couldn’t feel him through the walls.

It met her now as she walked through the door. A look that was broken and hopeful at the same time.

“Hi,” he cracked at her, standing at the foot of the stairs.

She tried to smile but it didn’t feel real. Pulling off her cardigan and rolling up the sleeves of her blouse she set herself to the kitchen to start baking the next day’s deliveries.

“You been busy today?” He leaned up against the counter, begging.

“Not really.”

“Was waiting here for awhile. Where you been?” He kept his tone soft, just enough concern so he wouldn’t spook her into thinking he was keeping tabs on her.

“Around. Thought you weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow.”

“Saw some more of them W’s. Getting closer.”

“They better be ready,” she muttered, turning from the island counter to the sink and filling the measuring cup with water.

He turned the faucet off before she even realized he had walked around her to get to it, refusing to be drowned by the rushing water.

“Carol…”

It stilled her, the curl of her name around his tongue, with the _a_ low, dropping to the back of his throat and the _l_ trailing on as if he ran out of breath before he could finish saying it. As if just her name could do that to him.

He wanted her to look at him but she just couldn’t. Looking at him was like swallowing the sun; warm and full of pain. It was in the way his eyes haunted her, pleading for her to answer questions neither of them were brave enough to ask.

The way she ached had brought her to Father Gabriel that morning, because she knew what Daryl wanted but she didn’t have it in her to give it to him. The old familiar pains were being taken over by him, swallowed by his tenderness and she didn’t want to lose them. She didn’t have a right to, and Father Gabriel had only helped to affirm it.

To resist. To repent.

Nothing was said of redemption. And it wasn’t what she was looking for.

“I’m sorry about the way I was when we was out there. On the road.”

He paused and she nodded, hoping that was all he needed to say, but he continued with his thumb held against his lips, “I knew you were sufferin’, too. ‘Specially after Ty but I didn’t—”

“You had to deal with it, with Beth dying, and you did what was best for you. That’s all I ever wanted so you don’t have to apologize to me about it.”

He continued anyway, his voice so quiet even though they were alone, “I know I haven’t been great company the past few weeks. I pushed a lot of things aside…pushed us aside.”

He took a step towards her and she couldn’t even bring herself to run from him. She had watched his walls crumble bit by bit, and she knew this was coming once he was able to climb over. Her heart pulled at all the parts of her, at her throat and her stomach and her lungs until it was all bunched together, beating too fast for her to keep control over.

“But even though I didn’t act like it, I never stopped loving you. Not for one minute. Maybe I can only say this now because we’re safe, and if we end up out on the road I might close up again. But that doesn’t mean I don’t—”

He stopped himself, red-cheeked and panicked. They had never said it out loud, in such plain ways, preferring soft glances and thoughtful acts to speak for them. But it was here now, loud and intrusive as it sat between them with Daryl’s chest heaving in anxious breaths and her being forced to wither away from it.

When she pressed her hand to his chest she felt the rapidness of his heart. He looked like he was suffocating, his chest tight as it rose and fell heavily. A part of her hoped he choked enough that he’d have to run out for air, and his lungs would take too long to fill for him to find her alone again. It would be easier if he’d run away like he used to.

But, she didn’t want to resist, not this. It would break him, and it wasn’t in her to make him suffer. He thought he saw a light in her, but she knew he’d learn someday that she was a darkness that swallowed up little girls and spit out monsters. And when he knew, that would be punishment enough.

For him, she touched her hand to his chest, to the back of his neck, feeling the rough and dirt marred skin that covered him. She brought her lips to his, a kiss so soft that they could pretend it was only a dream. She held herself to him, feeling his heart slow with every long and tender second that she let him have what he wanted. What he needed. What she didn’t deserve.

Against her fast beating heart was the void, the one that screamed with her into the night and lurked in the shadows. He melted into her but she kept her back straight.


	2. Resistance

_“Just breathe baby,” she crouched on the floor of the powder pink closet, arms circled around Sophia’s shaky body. “Baby, listen. I know Daddy gets…I know it can get scary so whenever you get scared I just want you to breathe and count every breath you take okay, sweetie? Can you do that for Mommy? Come on, let’s try together. One…two…three…”_

Hands strong against her waist, Daryl danced her backwards until her spine touched the refrigerator door. Fumbling fingers played against each button of her white blouse, none of them daring to unwrap her. And she craved it, as much as she didn’t want to, with her hips pressing against his. His tongue swept her mouth, stealing her nerve to keep a stronghold against his taste and his warmth.

With each kiss that lingered on her lips she wondered if he could taste her poison. He pressed himself against her, every part of his body touching hers in a desperate hold. He wanted her to feel him and be felt in return, but there was a danger in letting him get too close.

Breathless, she found her words between his tongue. “Not here,” she managed to whisper and he nodded against her neck. Fingers slipping from his, she walked up the stairs to the bedroom he usually occupied, each step upwards solidifying her.

They entered the room, the door clicking to lock behind her, and moved towards the bed. Standing with her back to the window his hands took up their roaming, discovering parts of her with deliberate attention. He was so careful with her, as if her fault lines were obvious, and he’d do anything to keep her from breaking. She stopped his wandering, laying a quick kiss to him, knowing his lips could be traced over her own when the nights got lonely. His wasn’t a touch easily forgotten.

Slowly, cautious of his sensitivity, she unbuttoned her blouse. One by one the little pearl circles unleashed, revealing her by the inch until he reached up and smoothed his hand against the skin she kept hidden for too long. There was devotion in his eyes that silently promised himself to her. When he leaned forward to softly kiss the stretches of her stomach she could feel a heat devour her.

It was raging, angry and bitter as he touched her, her name coming from his lips in a hushed prayer to the silence between them. Her body scorched, it hurt too much to feel this good, and she backed away just out of his reach. Gliding her pants to the ground in a slowed motion, she turned to the wall, staring at the off-white floral wallpaper that adorned it, listening as he removed his shirt.

“Come on,” she almost growled, softening the bite with a half-smile thrown over her shoulder as she clutched at the wall in front of her. Feeling his approach before she heard it, his hands coming to rest at her naked hips, his breathe skimming her shoulder.

He brushed his lips to the back of her ear. “Are you sure?”

She answered, pressing hard into his pelvis. 

“We don’t have to…”

“It’s fine,” she said to the wall, flushing herself against it as much as possible.

His traveling hands wrapped around her tummy, holding against her. “I can’t see you.”

“I know.” Her eyes closed tight, tighter than the knot in her chest and she pressed her forehead to the cold surface, hoping he'd understand that he could have her but she couldn’t have him.

She felt him nod against her, the hint of a kiss at the top of her shoulder. She listened, eyes still shut as his buckle sounded, pants crumpled to a heap. Skin against hers, she tried not to think of his contours and the thick muscles weighing on her.

Nudging against her, delicate as he was, her legs spread. Open and empty, she waited. She swam in a stagnant haze as he found his way between her. The rhythm of his rocking hips, heedful and cautious, was as soothing as the brush of his fingers against her shivering skin. There was no sharpness or abrasion. Just the gentle whispers of his love against her ear.

His fingers slid down her side, rapturing her in its tantalizing drag. Sweeping across her, he danced down the jagged, lightning scars of her stomach, caressing them. Face pressed into her neck, his lips prodded at her, asking her to turn her head for a kiss. He longed to see her, to watch every flutter and gasp and hold on to her divinity when his nights away turn to loneliness. If she didn’t turn her head he’d be going through this alone, just motions against a body, no matter how much he tried to grasp at her.

She dug her forehead further into the wall, trying to will herself between the blank spots in the paper. It was something she had done with Ed often, trying to forget she even existed. But Ed had never touched her with such delicate concern, trying his best to remember every inch of her. Even the parts she wouldn’t show.

He was becoming insistent, but not angry, hands curling around her own as he tried his best to reach her. Breathe shallowing, and almost whimpering to keep himself together long enough until she allowed him the connection he sought. He was so close she could feel the beating in his veins.

“Stop,” she muttered, her strength dissipated.

It surprised her when he did, almost immediately. She felt the rush of air on her back as he put space between them, and she listened to his panting.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, still fixed to the wall, fingers curled against the edge until the pain bit her.

Daryl waited, eyes cast away from her as she suddenly seemed more naked than she was. She looked so vulnerable unsticking herself limb from limb away from the wall. She bent slowly, gathering her clothes together and holding them to her bare chest.

“It’s okay,” he started, chancing a soft glance at her, “I didn’t think we’d…it all went too fast. Doesn’t have to be that way with us. We can go slow.”

Finally, she looked at him and there was something blazing in her eyes that he hadn’t seen in so long. It was doubt. Fear.

“Shit, Carol, I didn’t expect all  _that_  to happen. I know you’ve gotta work through…stuff. Was actually readin’ about it in that book from the shelter. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. Just tell me.”

“I can’t do this,” she swallowed, taking one tentative step towards him. “Not to you.” Her hand reached out to him and he waited for her touch, but she winced away at the last second and fled from the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

Carol leaned against it, counting each breath she took.

_One_

_Two_

_Three_

The front door opened and she was thankful no one had tried to fix the creaking sound it made yet. Voices wafted in from the outside. Carl, Michonne, Judith’s giggles. She moved quickly, making it across the hall to her room before they had even shut the front door. She stilled against the wood, listening to the light-heartedness that shifted the air in their home.

“Hey,” she heard Carl shout. “Is Daryl back?”

“Doesn’t smell like it,” she could practically hear the smirk in Michonne’s tease.

“Daryl?!” the boy shouted, feet stamping up the stairs and his gangly too-long legs tripping him up on the last one. “Shit.”

“Better watch your mouth, boy.”

She felt Daryl’s voice in the pit of her stomach, sticking there like something sour. The tenseness that lay just beneath the banter—strain that she put there—made her hold her clothes tighter, pulling her arms fully around her torso. She counted his steps, holding her breathe when they paused at her door, and not letting the air out until he was clear down the staircase.

There was a knock at the front door, hard and fast, like it came from someone who wanted to prove their strength. The tell-tale squeal came again, followed by quick footsteps.

“Is Carol home?” the voice, small but mighty, made her shiver and ache worse than Daryl’s had.

“I was just gonna ask where she was at. Looks like she started cooking something…” Glass clanked as Michonne must have picked up and put down the measuring cup.

“Yeah, Sam, she’s home, but she, uh, doesn’t feel good. I think it’s best if we leave her be for now.”

She didn’t know how he could be so tender, the way he talked to the little boy about her, like everything was so normal about the way she just treated him. Allowing her to have her pain, like he understood that some things are hard to shake, and she could take all the time she wanted in healing because he’d still be around when she was done. He should know better than anyone that not every wound mended. Especially not when a new one was breaking across her skin, knocking down her doors for cookies and comfort, all while she waited for him to be her next grave marker.

Her reflection caught her eye in the mirror across the room. There were so many parts of her. Thighs thick with muscles from the miles they endured. Bones jutting to remind her of the food they starved for. Marks speckled across her torso, in all the spots Ed liked to show his anger. They were faded but not gone. Daryl’s love would look so different on her skin.

Her fingers spread across the zig-zagged lines that grew with love, tracking the pattern Daryl had felt moments ago. This is what he felt when he touched her. She walks closer to the mirror, wishing she could know what he saw when he looked at her. Her clothes dropped from her hands, staggered in their fall as she reaches the mirror and touches her fingers to the glass, tracing the jaw of her reflection.  

After a while she doesn’t seem real or even human. She wonders what happened to her, and how Daryl could love her after all this time. It only reminds her of how unfit she is to have captured his unwavering heart.

_Everything happens for a reason_.

The words come so fast that she looks around the room to see who could have spoken them. Her heart sinks to think of Mika’s hopeful, sweet face staring up with unseeing eyes, painted in blood against a would-be haven. She’d pushed it out of her mind for so long that it looms over her like a cloud, soaking her in agony.

“Does she need medicine?!” the little boy asks, almost excitedly, shaking her from the mirror. “We can go get some from Olivia for her! Then we can bake her cookies like she bakes for us. I know where she keeps the extra chocolate she’s not supposed to have!”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Daryl said, and she could tell by the resolve in his tone that he was side-eying Michonne, asking for help.

“C’mon,” she piped in, “Let’s get you back to your mom. Besides, Carl and I promised to bring little Jude over to see Maggie.”

“When did we promise that?”

“You weren’t there. But we did. Come on!” the door squeaked open. “You coming too?”

The house pauses with Daryl’s contemplation. Squeezing the worn out hair tie that sat on her wrist, Carol pulls at the fraying fabric as she holds herself against his silence.

“Yeah,” he answers, boots creeping reluctantly towards the door until it wailed shut behind him. She moves just a few inches to peek through the curtain of her window.

Their shapes form, Carl talking to Sam, who was more animated than she had seen the boy since they met. Michonne held Judith in her arms, the baby half asleep and yawning as she tried to gnaw at the tie of her constable uniform. Her head bent close to Daryl’s speaking to him in what seemed to be a quiet way. His fingers stuck between his teeth, head bobbing and weaving with blunted answers. Then he turns, almost knowingly, to look back at the house, straight through to her window. If she hadn’t moved so quickly, smashing flat against the wall, he would have caught her gaze.

In the speed of her motion, Sophia’s hair tie gets caught too tightly between her fingers, snapping with a noiseless pain against her skin. She stares at where it lands on the floor, cradled in the wrinkles of her floral sweater.

_One_

“Sophia,” she whispers her baby’s name, crouching down to be nearer to the last remnants of her sweet girl.

_Two_

Her fingers stretch out to touch the limp strand but she can’t quite bring herself to. She can’t stop looking at it though, the edges of her vision blurring, making the flowers pop out from her sweater. They look so real she thinks about smelling them, but she hasn’t been able to stand the stench since Lizzie.

_Three_

Tinkling voices fall through her head, the whispers of her dead children. There’s nothing left of them but the sounds of their names and she wants to scream them but every muscle of her body has seized.  She’s lost them again, but this time there’s no strong arms to ground her. Just her own desperation clawing at the fallen pieces of her girls as they fade farther from her, replaced with a heat that burns deep in her gut.

Bursts of rage hit her like tiny explosions. They grow larger until she’s seething in it. She wants to rip her skin open, anything to expose her and she writhes with discomfort against the confines of the room. Reaching for the small dresser against the wall, she grabs at whatever clothes she can, barely noticing the snugness of the pants she’s thrown on. Her boots glint at her from the corner where she’s hidden them. Familiar and tattered, she breathes the smallest relief at the way they form to her. The hair tie rolls beneath her as she steps across the floor and out of the room.

At the foot of the stairs she can see Daryl’s crossbow leaning against the frame of the front door. It stops her dead in the center of the foyer, and from her spot she can see Michonne’s katana hanging from above the mantle. They’re so eager to leave their world behind, to start something new and safe. They get to try and be something better than they were. Happiness covers the corners of this home but it can’t seem to touch her.

Maybe without the Devil leashed to her back, humming all of her sins to her ear, she could start over too. Instead she’s griped with wishes that rattle her. Wishes that Daryl never found her. Never saw her. Never met her. She wants to hate him so badly that it hurts more than loving him does.

Something new scratches at her, a prickling that crawls from her muscles up through her skin. She reaches the door before she’s fully aware that she’s moving, not entirely sure where she’s headed. She grips the doorknob, tearing the front door open so quickly it doesn’t have time to squeal its protest. The house shudders when she slams it closed, and she can hear the faint clatter of the crossbow falling across the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! xx


	3. Salvation

“Laundry day?”

The question held just the slightest edge of judgement clipped with pity and forced Carol to finally look down at herself. The familiar blue-grey sweater, dirt etched so deeply into the stitching that it didn’t come out even after two washing, hung open. What once was a white tank top clung beneath it. The pants. The boots.

It felt so much like a second skin that she had barely noticed.

Olivia’s titled head, the bare thin smile of sympathy that she gave Carol let her know how she was supposed to respond. A quick joke about how hideous she feels, or how she looked practically inhumane. Savage.

“I need another round to bring to Sasha.”

“You do?” Olivia balked, tampering her laugh. Carol was always so easy to talk to but she was staring out the window, a sadness so chilling that Olivia shivered.

“It’s just,” she stumbled, “Spencer usually brings them up when he takes over. He should be here in about an hour to do that.”

“Oh I know. But I need them now. She ran out,” Carol squinted, the corners of her mouth heavy as she tried to lift them. Steel would be easier to bend.

“How do you know?” Olivia asked, not a challenge as much as some desperate claw at small talk. It unnerved her, seeing Carol so raw, stripped of the woman she thought she knew.

Carol peeked back out the window, shrugging just slightly. “Someone told me in the house. It was Rick…or Michonne. One of them.”

Olivia disappeared into the back room, her feet shuffling as she dug through the bullet drawer. She was back quicker than Carol had expected, shoving the unopened box into her hand. If she couldn’t have the version of Carol that she liked then she didn’t really want her there at all. Carol thanked her with the same limp smile, the one that made her eyes look hollow, and turned away from her without a word.

The clock tower was quiet, and if Olivia had a smidge of observation in her she’d have noticed that Sasha had barely fired at all that day. Carol climbed the tight white staircase, its peeling paint and spiked wood making it one of the few imperfections in Alexandria. The wood sighed as she weighed them down, reaching the top to see Sasha huddled in the corner, body crouched defensively as she held tight to the gun.

“Get out. You don’t need to be here for another hour.”

“It’s me,” Carol said, nudging at Sasha’s foot with her own.

Sasha’s eyes scrunched as she turned her head, peeking through low lids to make sure she had labeled who was speaking correctly. She smirked when she fully looked at the other woman, a vaguely disbelieving expression that her brother had often mimicked.

“What are you doing up here? I don’t remember ordering any baked goods,” she said bluntly, but threw in a blasé grin to take out the sting.

“You mind?” Carol shook the bullets, dropping the heavy box to the ground beside the rifle with a harsh thud.

“You’re back to this now? Or is this just an intermission?” Sasha slid across the wall to the far corner, offering Carol more room to maneuver with the gun.

She didn’t answer, concentrating on the familiar weight as she pressed the gun against her shoulder, leveling it out the window and peering through the scope. The woods were quiet, almost docile as a mist flooded through it with the threat of cold rain to come.

“There’s not a lot of them out there, might have to fire a few off the wall to get something to come out. But not more than three or someone’ll get all panicky,” Sasha offered casually, the bitter defiance that had coated her tone so much recently was gone, replaced with a gloomy aftertaste. She let herself fold into the corner, tilting her head against the wall and closing her eyes.

“Thanks,” Carol muttered.

The bullets ricocheted off the metal siding with two distinct plinks, and she waited tensely, trained on the edge of the tree line. Goosebumps danced across her arms, prickling at the hairs of her neck as she evened her breathing. Her stomach wobbled, hardening with anxious weight. Straining her ears for the growls and shuffling feet all she could hear was the static noise of a stormy night. A breeze shuffled through, rustling a branch and she nearly shot at the leaves.

“Fuck!” She bit, shoving the rifle away from her. Her muscles weakened, lacking the tension she had built up, and folded over her legs as she huddled into herself.

“Told you nothing’s out there. Dead’s so quiet it’s like they’re…dead,” Sasha smirked her eyes still closed. “You know what that means.”

Carol nodded, although Sasha couldn’t see her. There was something ironic, she thought, about how even in death (or half death) people were still following the biggest crowd they could. And with the way it had been so void of walkers, a herd bigger than they could imagine was building up somewhere. It was only a matter of time before they came to test just how sturdy Alexandria’s walls were.

“These people wouldn’t believe us if we told them,” Carol sighed, too exhausted to feel the full course of her anger. “They should be preparing, ready to defend this place but half of them couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn. They’re gonna panic. And then they’re gonna die.”

A noise of agreement, half way through a snort and a laugh, came from Sasha’s throat. “Stupid as they are, he would have loved it here.”

Carol lifted her head to find that Sasha was looking at her now. The hard coated anger that Sasha had covered herself with after her brother’s death was gone and she looked so lost, swimming in the too big fit of Bob’s old jacket. Her copper colored eyes flickered with shadows and Carol realized she doesn’t even know who Sasha’s talking about. Maybe they’ve all lost the best parts of themselves.

“Tyreese.”

She lets the name fold out from her tongue and hang between them, steadying herself with a hand on the floor before she continued, “You two went through something. I know you did. Could see it in the way he’d look at you sometimes. Like he was lost somewhere else and you were some kind of anchor. He wouldn’t talk about it though, wouldn’t even let me ask…”

Carol remembered the way he’d startle himself when they’d camp out during their nights to Virginia, half awake and covered in dirt. He would search her out between his whimpers, eyes wild as she nodded to him, touch his arm so he’d settle. Sometimes he’d whisper the girls' names and she’d hold a finger to her lips to quiet him. Even the thought of telling her, the idea flashing through Carol’s mind briefly of how exactly to explain what they had done, was painful. It would be ignoring the dead man’s last wish but it’s the first time Sasha has spoken about her brother without the bite of anger.

They never talked about the girls, to anyone else or to each other, but they’d let each other feel it for just a few seconds a day with a glance or a fleeting brush of skin. The day before they had made it to Wiltshire she had seen him picking at the stem of a daisy. Twirling the floweret in his big fingers, holding the soft petals to his nose, and she smiled for him. It was good that he was healing and for the first time she thought maybe she could too. He took the relief with him, shoving the ghosts they had piled up between them into her arms that weren’t wide enough to carry it all.

When Rick’s crackled voice came over the walkie-talkie, telling her Tyreese was dead she thought it was a joke. It was almost laughable. He had made it through so much worse than they’d ever know.

They had dug the grave quicker than any other one. At least that’s how it felt. With Beth, they had taken time, tears spilling, even from eyes that never saw her alive, never saw her vibrancy beaming back at them. But for Tyreese, they had dug and dug and dug without stopping as if getting him into the ground would finally put a stop to it all.

Of course it wouldn’t.

She had watched them dig from between the hanging leaves of a low-branched tree, her gun tight in her hands. Glenn found her when it was time for the service. She had shaken her head at him, wordlessly shaking off his hand from her shoulder and backed herself further into the groove of trees she had found. There was a boulder that she sat on, her back to the funeral, and she listened without hearing as Father Gabriel offered fake solace from the words of a God that didn’t seem to care anymore.

He spoke of sacrifice, the kind that Tyreese had given to ensure the safety of Noah and the others that had gone to Wiltshire. How he had sacrificed everything except his humanity, his morality and his soul to this world. No monsters could take _that_ away from him.

But they didn’t know about the two little girls. One with hair as yellow as a flower and a smile as bright as the sun, and the last glance of innocence etched into her hollowed eyes.  How one bullet ripped a hole through them both as it lodged in the skull of a misguided daughter. They didn’t know the way that two tiny bodies could fit so snugly in their arms, stiffening with every second as they wilted in the remains of a pecan grove.

They had no idea that any shreds left of him were caught in the haphazard crosses that marked two little graves.

She had only noticed the sermon was over by the shuffling legs that carried past her hidden alcove. She thought they were walkers until she heard the muffled sniffs. One pair stopped just outside of the branches reach, two unsightly boots with pants tapered at the ankles with duct tape and twine. She looked up at him, a flicker of hope that maybe there was comfort to be had, but something passed through his face like a grimace and he turned away from her before she had fully met his eyes. Her stomach dropped bitterly, acid coursing through her body until she burned with a kind of anger that was for the world but could so easily be displaced upon him. She wouldn’t let herself do that though, he was being punished enough and there was no point in adding that to the murky feelings they waded through each day.

Eugene quietly reminded them that they were down to their last water bottle. She took that as her cue, choking down a sob that could have wrecked her, and retreated from the trees, down the road passed where they all had gathered around the van, to where there may have been a stream, without a word or a glance to anyone else.

She never got the chance to ask Tyreese if it was the grief or the guilt that knocked him awake at night.

“This place could have saved him,” Sasha said quietly, fading away Carol’s memories. Despite the hard truth of her voice, Sasha looked punctured.

The wind rattled against the flaps of the clock tower, banging them against the structure, howling with an agony that she wishes she could let out. But the rage just builds inside of her, threatening to boil over.

She watches as Sasha’s throat tightens, her labored swallow working its way through her. She looks away from her, sorrow and defiance mixed together as she glares into the wood slats. After a moment she looks back at her.

“How come it hasn’t saved us?” Carol doesn’t mean to let the thought out but it settles between them, whispered against the rising wind that pushes through each crack and crevice it can find.

“Is there anything left that can?”

+*

The mist that rolled in was thick enough to hide her from Spencer as he passed her by when she left the tower with Sasha’s words fixed in her head. Rain touched her in tiny drizzles so faint she could have been imagining them. She rounded the corner, stilling as she looked up at the too big house. The light was on in the living room, and it felt warm and inviting. It’d been so long since she knew a home that didn’t open its door with trembling fingers.

She let the door open slowly, careful as she stepped in to not leave wet boot marks on the floor. Rick crossed in front of her, Judith squirming in his arms, and he almost hadn’t noticed her. He turned abruptly, staring at her slightly wet self as she just stood in the doorway. She looked so uncomfortable.

 

“You okay?” he asked, head tilted slightly to the left. There was something so out of place about her, and it wasn’t just the clothes, but her whole manner. He hadn’t seen her so shriveled and unsure in longer than he could remember.

“I don’t—” she was cut off by a little shriek, and Judith’s fist swatting at Rick’s face, grabbing at his mouth.

“She’s hungry,” he sighed, almost out of exasperation but with a smile of gratitude. It’d been too long since having a fussy baby was their biggest problem. He left for the kitchen, rummaging with one hand for the formula in the refrigerator.

Carol peeked around the living room, Carl taking no notice of her as he and Glenn played some kind of card game. She could hear the shower running upstairs, and from the not so dulcet tone singing she knew it had to be Michonne. It was terrible singing but it added something normal. She wanted to be a part of _that_ , even for a few minutes, to just ignore the way the world growled at her, insistent that she carry all of its dull weight inside of her.

The shower stopped, the door opening and she could almost feel the steam pouring out from it.

“You turning in early?” Michonne said.

Daryl’s grunt was unmistakable, and the sound of him pricked across her skin. Michonne laughed, mumbling some tease that earned someone a slap. When she heard two doors shut, she made her way up the stairs.

There were four bedrooms in the house. Daryl had taken the couch the first few days, insisting that both Carol and Michonne should have their own rooms, and that Rick needed a place for both him and the baby. Carl and Noah had shared a room with two twin beds, but after Noah died, Rick took the extra space. He said it was because Carl felt weird being in there without Noah. They never said a word about the way Rick seemed more relieved to be in the same room as his son, because even a single wall dividing them still left him feeling too closed off. There was an isolation in being able to shut and lock a real door, a privacy that the prison only ever alluded to. They all longed for the cramped up way they’d huddled in the living room the first few nights, though they wouldn’t admit it. Until one day they were just used to being separated and let the world catch up to them.

Carol hid in her room, huddled beneath the sheets of the bed. There was nothing but the rain pelting against her window, the rolling thunder interrupting her quiet when it could. She had made sure the mirror faced the wall, so she couldn’t see herself stripping out of the old tattered clothes. Standing naked in the center of her room she felt a schism as she floated between the many sides of herself, unsure of whom to wrap herself in that night. In the closet hung a long dark-colored trench coat that been swinging there long before she had settled in. It draped around her, cloaking her into the darkness that grew into the room around her as the sun hid away for the night.

She looked out into the empty hallway from her half-cracked door. The house was filled with the dull glow of the lamp post outside mixed with faded moonlight that glinted between the heavy rainclouds. She held the collar closed at the neck and tip toed across to his room. A choked bravery, the kind that walked the line between stupid and courageous, propelled her to grab the knob and push the door open.

Daryl turned over his shoulder, so in tune with every noise and creak from years when a visit in the night ended with a bloody back and dry tears. Her name had barely coughed its way out from his throat when she was kneeling on the bed, legs on either side of his as he sat up to meet her. The room lit with a crack of lightning and he could see the eager way she was staring at him, clawing the sheets away from him to get as close to his skin as possible. Her lips crashed into his with the thunder, and it took him a minute to orient himself to her. When he reached for her waist, trying to hold onto something while his head cleared, he found there was nothing but her beneath the heavy material of the coat.

“Hold on, wait a second,” he breathed inches from her lips. “What’s going on?”

Her forehead tipped forward touching his, and though she still held the collar of the coat closed with one hand, the other snaked beneath his arm, holding close at the back of his shoulder.

“Please,” she demanded, her voice weakened, depleted of everything but the same kind of grief she had left him with earlier. Her head shook against his, and hands fitted strongly across her back, holding her close to him.

“Carol,” he tried to look at her, but her eyes were clenched tight like before, “You have to talk to me.”

Instead she kissed him again, controlled as she moved against him, her hips scraped at the space between them. She pushed closer, letting the coat fall open as she dug both hands into his shoulder, nails cutting into skin. She was stronger than he had given her credit for, steadily putting more pressure on him until he slid downwards. Nestled into the familiar groove of the mattress, he could see all the freckles of her skin as she stretched, hovering above him. She shrugged off the coat, casting it aside. Hands locked tight atop the frame of the headboard, she stared into the blank wall.

“Hey,” Daryl’s voice sifted through the thunder outside and the roaring only she could hear. “Hey.” He repeated, his hand gently as it caressed against her thigh. She let go of the wooden frame, finding his hand instead and held it. He felt so real and solid, and she kissed his knuckles just to feel the rough callouses against her lips and remind herself that they both had scars. She tucked his hand into hers, bringing it to rest against her heart.

“Save me,” she whispered, eyes dipping down to meet his before she clenched them shut. He pushed himself up, his chest touching against hers as he touched her face with his free hand. His thumb against her cheek, palm cradling the hard edge of her jaw, he kissed her gently. His lips moved to the corner of her mouth and the tip of her nose, to just below the wisps of her hair that fell across her forehead and the center of her chin. He pulled away from her, his head leaning against the headboard as he did.

“You know I can’t…” He let the words trail off as he looked away from her shyly.

The fury she had stormed into the room with faded, and she curled against him, her nose buried in the curve of his neck. He wrapped around her, but she didn’t sob or break like he thought she would. They twisted together until they laid side by side, her shoulder against his chest and his arm bent across her. His hand was still trapped between hers, becoming a loose weight as he fell asleep against her, and she held it close to her face. She traced her finger across the longest line of his palm, hoping it was the one for life.

As she memorized the creases of his skin, she felt something flicker inside of her. It was the same feeling she had when they found the pecan grove, sitting in the living room with a roaring fire and the sound of three happy girls’ giggling over sugar coated shells. 

Thunder clapped above their heads, the storm outside worsening. The wind whipped and water pelted at the window forcefully, as if it could break the glass and bring the storm inside the room. It was the kind of rain that didn’t feel soothing anymore, but rather furious. Judith howled from the next room over, her cry jagged. It pierced through the veil of sleep that had almost caught her, and Carol’s eyes opened. She heard shuffling, and then Rick’s voice, dragging with sleep as he tried to soothe the baby. She listened to it as well, tried to let the hush of his whispered assurances lull her back to sleep. She concentrated on the weight of Daryl’s arm still draped across her stomach, holding her close to him as he slept comfortably. But her lids never tired as she stared up at the ceiling. Flashes of lightning lit up the room and she followed the shadows as they stretched over the walls and swallowed her whole.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to sweets for being the sweetest beta :P and thanks everyone for reading!!! xx


	4. Reclamation

She watched as the sun’s rays fell steadily along the wall. The muted yellow-orange glared across the top half of the room, keeping her in the shadows beneath. Daryl hadn’t stirred even an inch in the hours in which he slept, his arm still weighted across her.

When the sun hit halfway across the wall she shifted away from him, sitting up at the edge of the bed. She could feel the warmth at the top of her head, and then to her shoulders and arms as she stood. She gathered her fallen coat, pulling it around her as she slipped out the door.

It was too early for anyone else to be awake, their old rhythms of rising with the sun having gone once they settled inside the walls—no longer needing to rely on its light or hide from the dark. She hurried herself to get ready, forgoing appearances for comfort and time, leaving the house behind her.

It was crisp outside, an autumn air that chilled right through the thin white blouse she wore, but would be replaced by the sun’s heat by noon. The houses lined the empty street, quiet in their still-resting state. She wondered if the people inside had dreams like she did, ones that ripped sleep away from her and woke her to a world no better than the nightmares she had. But then they’d have to see things for what they were.

At the edge of his shed, Father Gabriel squinted up at her, the Holy book in his hand shielding his eyes from the hurrying sun. She stalled at the opening walkway that led to him, waiting uncertainly as he approached.

“It’s a nice morning for a walk,” he grinned at her, a nervous tick to the corners of his mouth that didn’t quite sell the jolliness of his tone. He looked apprehensively at that gate before them. “I’d join you, but, I have a lot to prepare for the service.”

“What are you going to tell them?”

Gabriel looked down at the Bible, flipping through its tattered pages. It held answers once but there was no guide to lead them through hell. “Lies. It’s really the only thing I can do well.”

“I think what I told you yesterday was wrong,” he said and when she looked over to him, the book was open his thumb running over the black ink. “He’d want us to forgive each other, to forgive ourselves. I’m just not sure you or I are the type of person that can.”

He mourned for himself, and she could see the cracks of who he once was. His congregation ran to him for a reason, but fear can undo the bravest soul. And in that moment, she truly felt sorry for him.

“Tell them the truth, Gabriel,” she said with some affinity, taking steps towards the gate. “There’s enough inside these walls lying to them already. Tell them what you saw, the world you know. They’ll listen.”

He watched as Holly opened and shut the gate for her, tears falling down his cheeks before he gave them permission to.

+*

Outside felt different. The concrete sidewalks and black asphalt of Alexandria were lifeless compared to the vibrancy of the fall colors blooming in the nearby woods. Fallen leaves of deep purples and rich oranges crunched beneath her boots. Rainwater still flooded the bumpy Earth, leaving puddles and the occasional droplet from a tree branch.

The grass rustled beside her, and Carol knelt down so as not to startle whatever small creature was coming her way. A rabbit poked its head through the tall blades, its nose pink and twitching. Two small bunnies appeared at its side, their spots of grey fur matching their mother’s. Carol wrapped her hand around the patch of grass beside her boot. She tugged the blades loose, crumbling them up further and offering her hand to the rabbits. They shuffled forward, unsure at first, but their soft whiskers nibbled from her hand. She let the blades fall back to the dirt, and watched as they kept pecking, not once having to think about keeping them for dinner.

She followed them as the scurried off, to a sizeable puddle amongst the thick woods and their prism of leaves. The water was dark, muddy brown and her shadow cast over it without much of a reflection back. She bent down, cupping the water in her palms until black streaks tainted her skin. Her arms thrust lower into the puddle until she was elbow deep, her fingers massaging the soft mixture beneath. She pulled out clumps of the mud, speckled with bits of golden leaves and small round rocks and discarded sticks.

She rubbed it across her forearms and onto her neck and face. Her skin was smeared like it had been with walker guts and clay outside of Terminus. She massaged the sludge into every open part of her, spitting out the dirt that founds its way passed her lips. It was heavy on her skin, and she let it hold her together like glue until she was sure it had dried.

When she made it back home she left her muddied boots out on the porch. She still dripped through the hallway and up the stairs to the bathroom, where she stripped and cast her soiled clothing to the corner. Steam from the shower broke through the mold before she could even feel the hot water against her. She watched as the dirt swirled around the drain until the water cleared, and nothing was falling off her. Until she was clean.

Her skin was nearly pink when she finally looked at herself in the full length mirror tucked into the corner of her bedroom. The water was hot and hard, making her sparkle like something newly forged from a dark, stifling place.

Gripping the sides of the mirror, she stepped as close to her reflection as she dared. She stared into her eyes, blues that seemed so dull and strange the day before.

“Sophia is dead,” she confessed in a whisper, not allowing herself to look away. “Mika is dead. And you killed Lizzie.” Her eyes clenched shut against tears, forcing her into darkness and felt the cool of the glass as she leaned her head against the mirror, the reflection of her forehead touching her own. She opened her eyes barely an inch from the mirror, lost in the swirl of pale blue and dark lashes with droplets handing off them.

“ _I_  killed her.”

She let go. Rubbing a hand across her eyes and stepping back towards the bed, she allowed herself a last glance in the mirror. She was still there, whole and standing. She seized against the feeling that had coiled around her so tightly since losing them all, and felt it unclench. A ragged breath went through her, her whole body shuddering as it did. She felt it and it was still there, but it didn’t hurt so much.

+*

Dinner was made and set and eaten by happy faces that let out thick belches in thanks. When she finally let Rick take over the clean-up, she drifted straight towards Daryl’s room without meaning to.

He was sitting at the windowsill, restringing his crossbow, checking the tautness, but he turned when he felt her in the room. She slid close to him, kissing his lips like it was a normal thing to do, and the corners of his mouth perked up in that almost smile.

“You okay?”

“Gotta be,” she grinned at their inside joke, but he didn’t share the smile.

“I’m serious. You seemed different at dinner, I don’t want to say happier, but I don’t know how else to say it.”

“I’m not okay,” she said, cursing herself at the way she drew away from him on instinct, even if the movement was slight. “And yesterday I was just tired of pretending that I was. I wanted to know what it was like, even for a day, to not squash all the pain down.”

“You can tell me about it,” his hand reached for her, crossbow forgotten at his feet as he clasped around her upper arms. “No matter what it is, I won’t judge you or nothin’.”

“I know,” she tried to smile, a real one that would light her up even in the dimmest room, but even boulders that had been withered away are still heavy. “But these are my demons. They were Tyreese’s too, but he’s gone now, so they’re all mine. And I know you, I know how you are and I don’t want you to have them. They belong to me.”

He nodded in understanding, and the only way he pressed her was with his lips gently against her forehead.

“Just,” she said quietly, meeting his eyes with her own, “Tell me when something good happens.”

Through the walls a lullaby seeped through, the floors creaking lightly as Michonne rocked Judith to sleep. Carol’s heart skipped, and she kissed Daryl one more time, a promise to be come right back as she crept into the makeshift nursery.

Michonne handed Judith off to Carol with a yawn of gratitude. The door shut and it was just the two of them. Judith looked at her, eyes wide and curious, just like they were when she stared up from beneath Lizzie’s dripping knife. It’d been a while since she held her and Judith was heavy against her chest as she babbled sleepily into Carol’s neck. It was a weight she didn’t mind carrying.

She settled her down into the crib, pulling a blanket around her that was like new. The door creaked open and she expected it was Rick, but when she turned to let him know that she was asleep it was a different figure striding towards her.

“She ate three meals today,” Daryl whispered, joining her as they looked into the crib together. “Just like she’s eaten the past few days. Had some snacks too. She’s been washed every day, and hasn’t slept in a pile of leaves and bugs for over a week now.”

He leaned over the crib bars, brushing against the soft hairs that framed Judith’s his face, his finger so much rougher than her fair skin. “I’d say that’s something pretty good that’s happened.”

She didn’t know if there was a quota on how many bad things Judith could be a silver lining for. What she had done for her was awful and terrible and unforgivable, but, it was a  _good_  thing. The baby gurgled, rolling to her side as her first clutched around the blanket just as Daryl took Carol’s hand in his own.

She let the last bit of her restraint go as he tugged her away from the crib and back to their room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for sticking this one out and reading!! xx

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading lovelies!! xx


End file.
